Poison and Medicine
by Hearii
Summary: Yoite was the one who had poisoned him, but it was also Yoite who had the ability to cure him. YoiteMiharu.


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A/N: Sorry, I realize I'm neglecting my other stories to make shitty incoherent oneshots. My bad.

Rated for implications. Yes, yes, it's what you all think.

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When Miharu realized it, it dawned on him slowly rather than the ton of bricks he had originally expected. And that meant that instead of immediate pain following, as if a building had toppled over onto him, a grip around his lungs tightened and tightened and tightened until his eyes and throat blazed and cracked – or maybe his lungs were swelling with the type of poison that didn't really exist unless you knew Yoite and you knew he was going to die.

Yoite's body, coat still frigid and stiff from the stinging reminder of the cold winter outside, burned against Miharu's bare forearms when he slowly reached up to wrap his arms around Yoite's neck and bury his face into his shoulder blade.

Miharu's movements were slow – always gauging Yoite's reaction to see if he had once crossed over the line. Vaguely Miharu wondering if he should have wished the bricks had fallen rather than the poison being released; any emotional and physical boundaries would be apparent between the two and there would be no worries of Miharu being pushed away. There relationship could be told black from white with no faded gray like it was with the swelling of poison now.

He would always be worried if Yoite would respond to his actions they way he hadn't thought – or wanted – because the last thing on Earth Miharu wanted was to make Yoite's life harder than he knew it already was.

Miharu felt Yoite's head jerk away at the proximity. It was enough to make Miharu's desperate but soft grip loosen from around his neck. But then Yoite's head fell back down and rested on the head of black hair near his cheek. Miharu's knees locked in place and a bitter smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

Yoite's gloveless fingers ghosted along the small of Miharu's back, leaving a trail of heat and shivers in their path, before settling to wrapping Miharu up in his own arms.

The tightening – swelling? – sensation returned to Miharu's throat and eyes, a strangled noise leaving the corner of Yoite's shoulder. Miharu did not recognize the air of desperation it held. It was the same as the unfamiliar feeling of his shoulders wracking with pent up tears and frustration. It just didn't fit and left Miharu feeling awkward and embarrassed.

Yoite didn't make any visible note of it.

There was so much Miharu didn't know but he wanted to know. It was painful – the amount of time Yoite had left and the amount of time Miharu had to find out _about_ Yoite were in such steep contracts that Miharu's head spun.

Before he could control his movements, the arms he thought were latched around Yoite's neck so immovably trailed in between their chests. His left hand gripped onto his shirt, just at his chest. The other clawed more frantically at Yoite's front; both of Miharu's hands placed above both of their hearts.

Miharu's mind couldn't contain all of the incoherent thoughts bouncing off every wall of his skull and started to leak out. The muttering was so quick and cracked that neither of them were sure of what was being said.

Miharu didn't think as his head tilted up towards Yoite's, but he is painfully aware when their lips touch and asks himself who's head was leaned in closer to begin with and who started to move first. It doesn't seem to matter though, as both of them seem equally surprised and confused by the sudden contact.

Of course Miharu expects Yoite's head to pull back; for him to suddenly back away and act as if nothing ever happened. But it never comes and Yoite just stands still to give Miharu the option of stopping or deepening their kiss.

It only takes a moment to decide, but Miharu's head was swimming and the staying close was more than just an option when the poison from his lungs is being sucked away at a rapid rate. So Miharu leaned in, the hands between them being pinned in place above both of their hearts until it's decided that they should separate – something that doesn't seem to be anywhere close to happening.

Miharu wondered if he just imagined the grip around his waist tightening to hold him up, but it felt nice anyways so he hoped it actually happened, just like how he hoped that he could feel Yoite's chest brushing along his own even longer. But that hope isn't filled, only for the reason that the back of Miharu's knees hit the far edge of one of the two hotel beds and they both went toppling down onto the mattress.

Yoite froze in place like he had just come to consciousness at the worst time, when his hands were positioned at either side of Miharu's head and his knees dangerously close the side of Miharu's thighs.

Miharu stared up at Yoite, cautious to look into the eyes above him that looked too torn to make a move. Miharu's lips parted – he was sure they were as red as his cheeks must have been – just as the top of his chest heaved. A small noise that sounded like a cross between a hiccup and giggle escaped.

Miharu pulled himself up into a half sitting position so he could wrap his arms around Yoite's neck again with a less desperate hold. Their chests brushed like Miharu hoped, and the frantic beating of Yoite's heart made him happy.

Was that okay?

Yoite had a heartbeat. He was breathing, moving, _living_ and it was enough for Miharu.

Miharu fell back down onto the mattress, dragging Yoite with him. One of his hands brushed the loose strands of hair out of the other boy's face while he continued to make the small, uncontrollable laughs of relief. Yoite was _still living._

Yoite pulled himself back up onto his hands, knees only just brushing against the bare skin of Miharu's waist and leaving a trail of damp heat.

"Why are you laughing?" Yoite asked, more curious than angry about his calmness in the situation.

Miharu's response wasn't as clear-cut as the question. The craving of Yoite was too strong and suddenly the other boy was pulled back onto his forearms again. Their lips were just brushing again: _It's harder to explain in words._

Yoite's heart drumming against his ribs settled Miharu enough to get one coherent thought before the night continued:

_If Yoite is to die, he will not be alone. Even if it means having to leave with him to be there._


End file.
